Somebody's Mother

The woman was old and ragged and gray,
and bent with the chill of the winters day.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,
alone, uncared for, amongst the throng

of human beings that passed her by,
none heeding the glance of her anxious eye.

When down the street with laughter and shout,
glad in the freedom of school let out,

came the boys like a flock of sheep
hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray
hastened the children on their way

at last came one of the merry group
the gayest laddie of all the troop

he paused beside her and whispered low
I'll help you across if you wish to go"

then his strong arm on hers he placed
then with out hurt or harm

he guided her trembling feet along
glad that his own were firm and strong

then back again to the boys he went
his own heart happy and well content

"she's somebody's mother boys you know
for all she's old and poor and slow,

I hope some boy will lend a hand
to help my mother you understand

if ever she's old and poor and gray
and her own dear boy is far away."

And somebody's mother bent low her head
at home that night and the prayer she said

was "God be kind to that noble boy
who's somebody's son and pride and joy"

~by Mary Dow Brine~

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